


Walpurgisnacht

by okapi



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Dracula's Guest, Dream Sex, Fantasy Sex, Human/Wolf, Masturbation while Dreaming, Masturbation while Sleeping, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: The page of Jonathan Harker's diary which will never be read.Takes place after the events of the Bram Stoker's short story "Dracula's Guest" and before the events ofDraculaitself.  Human/Wolf. Erotic dream.





	Walpurgisnacht

**Author's Note:**

> There is much discussion of why the narrator of the short story "Dracula's Guest" cannot be Jonathan Harker, but for the sake of this PWP, I am going to ignore some very sound points and treat "Dracula's Guest" and _Dracula_ as part of the same narrative.
> 
> Written for the 2019 Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge and the DW 100 Fandoms challenge prompt .057 sleeping.

**_1 May. Somewhere between Salzburg and Vienna._ **

_It is nigh impossible to write legibly and coherently on a train, but I will attempt it in the hope that I shall exorcise this demon fantasy which has plagued me since I woke. It concerns the events of the night before last, the encounter I had with the wolf in storm…_

_The dream commenced, as dreams often do, mid-scene…_

* * *

 

I was lying upon a stone bed. Snow swirled above. I watched the frozen constellations dance with the stupor of the mesmerised—or, I suppose more precisely, the dreamer.

Then, without explanation or preamble, the wolf was resting heavily on my chest.

He licked my neck, a gesture I now knew was to protect me from the effects of the storm. It was an act of succor to warm my blood.

As to the latter aim, it succeeded admirably. Despite the frigid tempest, I did not feel the cold. Indeed, I was aflame in body as well as mind and soul, in desperate need of the wolf’s ministrations.

I did not fear him. I knew him to be friend. Or at least not adversary.

Lover.

The wolf was lover, and I ached to be claimed by him, marked by him, as such.

I desired his power, his warmth, his scent, his sex, his strength all about me. I wanted to be as close to him as our disparate natures would permit.

He nuzzled the divot at the base of my neck. He nosed along my clavicle.

I sank my fingers into his fur and scratched him behind his ears. His scent was that of beast, brute and unyielding in its thick musk. I inhaled deeply, letting the raw perfume scorch the tender lining of my lungs.

The wolf growled, then lifted his gigantic form off me.

As it had been in the waking world, I peered up, through fringe of eyelashes, into his flaming eyes.

He barked, then a fleeting, but wholly unexpected pain cut me from sternum to genitals.

I was suddenly cold, then, just as suddenly, warm again.

The wolf’s teeth had ripped through my layers of clothing and left the core of me exposed, first, to the elements and, then, to his rapacious tongue.

He licked my chest. He licked my belly.

My hands returned to his mane. I gripped him and attempted to guide that unrelenting tongue to where I wanted its attention most and most urgently.

But, despite my insistence, or perhaps because of it, the wolf took his time, teasing me and savouring the journey. His ceaseless lapping pebbled my nipples and left sodden ribbons of wiry hair plastered to my sweat-damp skin.

I was moved to whimper and whorishly lift my hips.

The wolf ignored my pleas and continued his torment, tearing away more of my trousers and underclothing and applying his wonderfully wet caresses to my inner thighs.

I moaned openly now, begging without shame for more.

And when, finally— _finally!_ —the wolf licked the length of my shaft from quivering base to weeping head, my lust knew no bounds. His tongue was wide and dexterous and clever, and the ever-present threat of razor-sharp canines on my most delicate parts left me delightfully paralysed.

He would do with me as he wanted.

I shuddered.

Then, with all the strength I could muster, I held his muzzle between my legs, bidding him to devour me and my sex.

Snow swirled in strange eddies before settling upon the sculpted form of our joined bodies.

The heels of my boots dug into the wolf’s broad back, but I knew I did not injury him anymore than he injured me.

A flash of lightning illuminated the dreamscape.

In spite of my muddled faculties, I was able to observe, hovering in the near distance, a figure resembling the woman I’d seen on sleeping on the bier in the tomb, but this creature was burnt and disfigured, mostly ash held together by a few taut sinews.

Her misshapen face, however, contorted into a mask of abject horror and repulsion as she beheld me and my lover.

To be considered an abomination among damned was something, I thought idly.

Then an arrogance, hitherto unknown to me, had me in its power. I sought and held the gaze of the cindered creature and shot her a wicked, devil-may-care grin.

My eyelids closed slowly and seemingly of their own accord, and the watcher, whether she remained or vanished, troubled me no more.

I threw my head back. I arched my back. I jerked my hips up. I thrust into my lover’s mouth.

As I found my release, howls of wind mingled with those of a lupin chorus.

The snow was thick as ever. I wondered why it did not bury us.

The wolf licked me clean, of course, and covered my face and neck with affectionate nuzzling.

I, for my part, petted and scratched and rubbed and smoothed, all the while babbling a incoherent stream of syrupy endearments and banal expressions of gratitude and regard.

But my fever had not broken. Not by half.

I twisted beneath him and was about to turn on to my hands and knees, the better to lift my hindquarter and offer myself for mounting and mating in the ways of wolves when—

* * *

— _the crack of my head against what must’ve been the wall of the berth woke me. My exposed, flaccid sex was still in my hand and the telltale evidence of my somnambular activity was drying on the bedclothes. I barely had time to erase the night’s traces from my person and the compartment when I was being advised that the train was arriving in Salzburg, thankfully an hour later scheduled._

_It is a mystery to me how I managed to get myself and my luggage correctly diverted to the next leg of my journey with the dream commanding my thoughts and enfeebling my step at every turn._

_Nevertheless, here I am. Once more my own person and yet ever changed, too._

_By the wolf._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
